


An Unlicensed Weapon

by flawedamythyst



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-01
Updated: 2012-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 11:21:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene from 2.02: The Hounds Of Baskerville.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unlicensed Weapon

John waited outside the car hire office with the bags while Sherlock went in to get a car. That way, he thought, there was no way in hell he'd somehow end up paying for the thing.

Sherlock came out after less than five minutes. “It's that one,” he said, pointing at a car a few spaces down.

“Great,” said John, picking up his bags.

“Here are the keys,” said Sherlock, and tossed them to John, who managed to catch them with a bit of a fumble, despite both his bags and his surprise.

“Ah, good,” he said, looking at them, then back at Sherlock. “You know I can't drive, right?”

Sherlock stared at him. “What do you mean you can't drive? Everyone drives!”

“I don't,” said John, and threw the keys back at Sherlock. He caught them without even looking, the bastard.

Sherlock's surprised stare morphed into his deducing stare. “Couldn't afford it when you were younger – saving for University? Medical school was expensive even back then with a grant, and your family wouldn't have been able to help much. And, then you were in London – no one needs to drive in London – and after that you joined the Army, where there were other people to get you about.”

“Yes, well done,” said John. “Bit obvious, though, all of that.”

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. “I can't help it if your past is facile.” He looked at the hire car. “I suppose I shall have to drive.”

“Yep,” said John, picking up his bags and heading around to the passenger side. “I may be your general dogsbody, but you'll have to be your own chauffeur.”

Once they were in the car, Sherlock sat behind the wheel for several long minutes, his eyes darting over the controls.

“I could be wrong,” said John, “but I think the first thing is to put the key in the ignition.”

Sherlock shot him a black look. “I was just familiarising myself with the controls. It's an essential part of operating a strange vehicle.” He fitted the key into the ignition and started the engine. “Right,” he muttered to himself, then put the car into gear. There was a jolt and a bang, and it stalled.

“Oh god,” said John. “Please tell me you haven't deleted driving.”

“Of course not,” said Sherlock. He gave it another go, and this time managed to get them moving, heading smoothly for the carpark exit. “Ah, that's it,” he said.

“Been a while, has it?” asked John, turning to pull the map out of his bag.

“You could say that,” said Sherlock. “Which way is it from here?”

“One moment,” said John, opening the map. “Left, I think. Yeah, definitely left.”

****

“Do you want me to text you when we know which train home we'll be on?” John asked Greg before he went back to his B&B, after all the drama surrounding Frankland's death had died down. “We may as well all go back together, right?”

Greg made a face. “Not sure I want to let myself get stuck in an enclosed space with Himself for several hours that he's likely to be bored for, but I guess you're right.”

John glanced over at where Sherlock was arguing with one of the Baskerville guards. “He was all right on the way down,” he said. “Course, he was on his way to a case then. He might well be a nightmare going back.” He looked back at Greg. “I could do with some sane company, really, or I'm likely to just throw him out of the train while it's moving.”

Greg laughed. “Well, when you put it like that,” he said. “If we're both there, it'll be easier. And we can always blame the lingering effects of the drug, right?”

John grinned. “Sounds like a plan. I've no idea what time we'll be going – hopefully late morning, I don't much fancy getting up early after all this. We've a hire car, we can pick you up on the way.”

“Yeah, I think I'll want a lazy start tomorrow,” agreed Greg. “This has been enough excitement for me for a bit.”

“You'll be glad to hear that Sherlock's driving is surprisingly un-exciting, then,” said John.

Greg started. “Sherlock's driving?” he repeated.

“Yeah,” said John. “Well, I don't drive, so-”

Greg spun away to glare at Sherlock. “Sherlock Holmes!” he bellowed, cutting off whatever Sherlock was ranting about. The security guard took his chance to slip away. “Please tell me you have not been driving a car on the public highway.”

“I can if you want, but it would be a lie,” said Sherlock.

“Wait,” said John. “What's the problem?”

Greg looked back at him with gritted teeth. “He doesn't have a bloody licence,” he said.

“Yes, he does,” said John. “I've seen it, it's in his wallet.”

“That's a forgery,” said Greg.

John turned to stare at Sherlock, who shrugged. “You need ID for so many things these days, it's ridiculous, and I'm not about to carry my passport around with me.”

“You don't have a licence,” repeated John in the most even tone he could manage. “And you've been driving around – with me in the car! - this whole time? Have you even had any lessons?”

“Of course not,” said Sherlock. “I have to say, it was easier to pick up than I'd have expected – not sure why anyone would even need lessons.”

“Sherlock!” said Greg. “This is not a game! A vehicle can be an extremely dangerous weapon in inexperienced hands – what if you'd had an accident? What if you'd been pulled over?”

“Oh, there'd have been a way around that,” said Sherlock. “Policeman are delightfully simple to manipulate.”

John gaped at him, then turned back to Greg. “We'll get a taxi in the morning.”

“That's a good idea,” agreed Greg.

“Oh, come on,” said Sherlock. “There's nothing wrong with my driving! I haven't done any U-turns across six lanes of traffic in order to chase after a criminal, or anything.”

“We haven't been on any roads that have six lanes of traffic,” said John. “Thank God!”

“Yes, that's been a pity,” said Sherlock. “Perhaps a motorway would have been more interesting to drive on – now the novelty has worn off, these country roads are awfully dull.”

John took a deep breath, then let it out without saying any of the hundred things rushing through his head. He looked at Greg. “I'll see you in the morning,” he said, then turned and headed back towards the village.

“Oh, come on, John,” protested Sherlock from behind him. “It's just bureaucracy! Why are you getting so upset?”

“Sherlock, how many times do I have to tell you? You're not above the law!” said Greg. 

“Says the man with an illegal firearm tucked in his waistband,” returned Sherlock. “Honestly, you're both being ridiculous.”

John pressed his mouth into a straight line, and kept on walking.


End file.
